


Strider

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drunk Sex, Drunkenness, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-29
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 19:48:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On one hand, Dirk regrets those tequila shots. One the other, well...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strider

You have to apologize to the man living in the apartment three doors down from your own when Jake cheerfully smacks him on the back and slurs a greeting to him. It’s too late and Jake’s too drunk to be annoying your neighbors and physically assaulting them with his heavy handed back pats. 

 

You grab a hold of Jake’s wrist and guide him to the front door of your apartment. He grins at you, vibrant green eyes glossy, glasses tilted ever so slightly from when he crashed face first against the main entrance door. 

 

You’ve taken him drinking before and he normally sticks with beer, or a simple rum and coke at the most. You figure that’s probably best since his tolerance is almost non-existent. 

 

_You regret the whole tequila shots thing you did with him at the bar._

 

You grab your keys out of your pocket and unlock the door. Jake is behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist, tugging you backward and generally being a nuisance while you try to prevent getting him a public intoxication charge since the man who lives directly across from you is a cop-- a sarcastic, smart-mouthed, indifferent cop, but a cop all the same. 

 

You finally get the door open and you step inside, pulling Jake with you. You turn around just enough so that you can shut the door. You can’t really remember if you locked it with the key immediately after you unlocked it and turned the knob, but you suppose it doesn’t matter. 

 

Between both of your physical combat skills, your sword, and Jake’s guns, if a burglar decides to break into your apartment, you’re a hundred percent sure his shit will get wrecked. 

 

“Go lie down,” You say to Jake as you toss your keys onto the table next to the door. 

 

“How about you make me, Strider?”

 

You roll your eyes. “Then stand here all night. I’m going to bed.” You pry Jake’s hands off of you and take a few steps down the hall. You don’t have to turn around to realize that Jake isn’t following you. 

 

“If you’re going to stand there, at least check and make sure I locked the--”

 

“Strider,” Jake says. There’s an edge to his voice, something that makes him sound authoritative and dangerous. 

 

You turn toward him, eyebrow quirked, interested in what he has to say to you with that tone of voice. 

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Come here.”

 

“Hn.” 

 

_You’re intrigued._

 

You take a step toward him, but he holds up his hand, palm facing you, which you assume is the signal for you to cease moving. He moves away from the door and stands in front of the couch. He does that little come hither finger wag, which, in your opinion, looks ridiculous, but you comply anyway. 

 

You make your way toward him until you’re standing directly in front of him. “Well?” You say, but he leans forward and rests his head on your shoulder, tilts his head, and bites down on your neck, _hard_. 

 

“Cut it out,” you say and attempt to pull away from him, but he grips your hips and holds you in place. You shove at his shoulders and he loses his footing and falls onto the couch. “You need to go to sleep.”

 

“Well, _you_ , Strider,” Jake slurs and sits up. He points an accusing finger at you and grips the front of your jeans. “Need to let _me_ gobble your knob.”

 

Okay, yeah. Jake is _definitely_ drunk. 

 

“Jake--”

 

“Blimey, would you _shut up_ ,” Jake says and unbuttons your pants. 

 

You open your mouth to speak, but Jake looks up at you with an expression that tells you that regardless of what you’re going to say, him sucking your cock is going to happen. 

 

_You don’t bother trying to go against fate._

 

Seconds later, you’re grabbing his hair, tugging and pulling, groaning and snapping  your hips, shoving your cock deeper into his warm, wet, mouth. He’s had too much to drink, enough to make him think that’s he’s capable of deepthroating, which he isn’t, but fuck if the sound of him gagging doesn’t make you want him to try again. 

 

You’re breathing heavily, gasping, while you continue to yank on his hair. You’re close now and Jake must know it because he stops suddenly and stares up at you, eyes half-lidded, but mischievous. 

 

“Not so fast, Strider,” he says. “We still have one last stop to make on this adventure.”

 

_He’s so hopelessly dorky that even after all this time, you still manage to have a crush on him._

 

You’re standing there with your pants wrapped around your ankles, your cocks wet from his saliva, and he leans over the arm of the sofa and retrieves the lube that you stash inside the remote control holder for emergencies. He tosses it at you, smirks, and flips onto his stomach. 

 

If there was a world record for quickest time to ever get another man’s pants off, you would have broken it. 

 

The lube is cold and you’ve used a lot of it, but you can never use too much lube, so it’s fine. When you slide into Jake, he _growls_ against the back cushion of the sofa and if you didn’t admit to yourself that hearing him turned on, you’d be living in a world of denial. 

 

The couch groans beneath the two of you, obviously not appreciating the eagerness of which you slam into Jake, but fuck it, it’s a couch. Who cares? 

 

“Oh, god,” Jake moans, panting and biting at the soft suede fabric pressed against his mouth. “Fuck me, Strider,” he half demands, half _begs_ you. 

 

You grip his hair and lean down until your lips line up with his ear. “Shhh,” you whisper. Not because you’re worried that someone will hear. You don’t care if people here. You’re trying to prolong your orgasm for as long as humanly possible. Hearing Jake beg you to fuck him is throwing a massive fucking wrench in the plan. 

 

Jake doesn’t speak, but you can almost feel his drunken smirk as he rocks back against you, impaling his premium ass on your cock over and over again while you do nothing but whimper and breath heavily against his ear. It comes as a complete surprise to you when he cries out and squeezes around you, his impatient thrusts and his cock dragging along the suede undoubtedly being the cause of--from what you can feel--a pretty intense orgasm. 

 

While he’s shuddering and shaking below you, you attempt to pull out, but he squeezes you once more, his muscles gripping you, dragging you back, holding you in place. “F-Fuck, J-Jake” you moan, cumming hard enough to make you Elmer Fudd something terrible. 

 

After a moment or two, you hear Jake’s muffled laughter and you know he’s teasing you for stuttering. You’ll pay him back later, possibly when the room stops spinning or perhaps tomorrow when he’s nice and hungover. 

 

Or maybe next time, you’ll just let him get hit with that public intoxication charge.


End file.
